


My Sweet Prince

by Michelle



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Male Slash, Slash, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-05
Updated: 2007-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29863977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle/pseuds/Michelle
Summary: Aragorn has voyeuristic tendencies.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Legolas Greenleaf
Kudos: 2





	My Sweet Prince

**Author's Note:**

> Title: My Sweet Prince  
> Author: Michelle  
> Email: michelle [at] waking-vision.com  
> Summary: Aragorn has voyeuristic tendencies.  
> Pairing: unrequited Aragorn/Legolas  
> Beta: Namarie  
> Genre: slash  
> Rating: PG13  
> Disclaimer: Neither Aragorn nor Legolas are mine. But at least I can make them miserable.  
> Author’s Note: This ficlet was inspired by the Middle Earth Express on Aragorn Angst, prompt #77: watch. The title comes from the Placebo song.

You do not see me standing on the balcony of the Hall of Fire. For once you are oblivious to my presence and I want to make the most of my invisibility.

So I watch.

You are standing in the courtyard, discussing something important with Erestor of all people. You are clearly agitated, your head nodding or shaking now and then, sending your hair flying in waves – left and right, left and right. I would imagine liquid gold to look like this, a colour so alive and vibrant in the summer sun that I am unable to look away. I wonder how your locks would feel in my hands and I long to run my fingers through them, braid them, twirl them, bury my nose deep inside the golden richness of your tresses.

I inhale deeply.

You say something to Erestor, leaning forward as if to emphasize your words and your hands gesture, pointing here and there. Your arms are bare and I observe how your muscles flex under your smooth skin, pale and without blemish. I have felt your hands on me when we sparred, your fist connecting painfully with my chin more than once. But how I long to feel your hands in a different manner. Your hands on my skin, your fingers caressing the inside of my elbow. I yearn for the intimate touches lovers share, subconsciously seeking closeness. I want to feel your hand at the small of my back or your arms snaking around my middle.

My hands grip the railing of the balcony tighter.

The day is hot and humid and a pearl of sweat is running down your temple. You do not brush it away, too engrossed in your talk with Erestor to truly notice, and that drop tempts me to lick it away. I would sweep out my tongue as if sampling a delicacy, carefully tasting this intimate part of you. And it would taste like ambrosia to me, causing me to let my tongue try here and there in the hopes of catching more of the tiny droplets. Maybe you would turn your head, even give a tiny sound of appreciation. It would be all I needed.

I lick my suddenly dry lips.

I stand and observe while the minutes tick by and my mind takes me places I will never visit in reality. You turn your head suddenly, catching my eyes. You frown with a silent question in your gaze. I look away in guilt and shock, not having anticipated that you would notice me up here. But soon enough you turn back to Erestor to resume your talk.

You will never be mine to touch, to hold, to kiss – except in my mind.

So I watch.

And I am content.

_\- The End_

_(September 2007)_


End file.
